


Love is a fickle beast

by Moonshine_Givens



Series: You may say I'm a dreamer [2]
Category: Justified, Sons of Anarchy
Genre: Crack, Crack Pairing, Dreams, M/M, Raylan's having some weird ass dreams, crossover with soa - only the Venus character, this is not au!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-15
Updated: 2013-01-15
Packaged: 2017-11-25 14:06:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/639654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moonshine_Givens/pseuds/Moonshine_Givens
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She had big boobs. Like, this would be the first thing you notice about her any day: she had big boobs. It was the first thing Raylan Givens noticed about her as well. In fact, he noticed her boobs before noticing she was Boyd Crowder.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love is a fickle beast

**Author's Note:**

> Hello there, Gunslingers! Dudes and dudettes, I'm choosing to make that weird ass fic in a series. Why? Just 'cause. I guess I'm intrigued to see how many weird, traumatizing dreams I can make Raylan dream before someone calls me on my bullshit. As usual, I'm still a brazilian hot lady and I still know shit about your beautiful language, so you'll excuse all of my mistakes, 'cause you're darlings like that. Hope you enjoy it!

She had big boobs. Like, this would be the first thing you notice about her any day: she had big boobs. It was the first thing Raylan Givens noticed about her as well, before he noticed her stylish hair, her long manicured nails – painted red, of course –, before he even noticed her leather skin-tight outfit or the shade of her lipstick. In fact, he noticed her boobs before noticing she was Boyd Crowder.

And yeah, she was Boyd Crowder.

“Oh, hello there, Raylan.”

The same accent, the same voice, the same sharp and dangerous look in his (her) eyes, but hey, boobs. Big, huge, bouncy boobs squeezed in the tightest cat-suit to ever walk the earth (and Raylan was used to see Boyd in some pretty tight jeans). There was no explanation whatsoever as to why was Boyd Crowder, known Harlan criminal and drug dealer, suddenly walking around in high heels and boobs.

Raylan couldn’t know right now if he was weirded out or turned on or another shade of fucked up. He just stood as Boyd came walking in his direction, a slow and sensual strut, her long and sharp nails against his chest.

“Didn’t your daddy ever tell you, never judge a book by its penis?”

No, Raylan didn’t recall to have that particular conversation with Arlo Givens, but then again, Arlo wasn’t a great parental figure, maybe all other daddies were teaching their kids about sexy coal miners in leather. Oh, and yeah. He might be more than half way towards “turned on”, as Boyd presses against him and said penis rub against his thigh, hot and hard. And wow, why was Raylan’s hands in Boyd’s hair, real hair, not a wig: soft, nice hair that felt like Winona’s between his fingers.

“Boyd?”

“Yes, Tiger?”

The situation was getting particularly ridiculous, so Raylan decided he should just kiss her and be over with. As he felt her mouth opening under his (not very much under, damn high heels), her tongue against his, Boyd’s taste dominating him, Raylan also felt like he was falling, falling, falling….

******

He fell. Out of bed, that is.

It was completely dark inside his apartment, but there were still sounds coming from the bar down stairs – the live show was over, but the juke was still playing. Raylan, still on the floor, looked over the clock by his bed: 3 a.m. Great. Really, no, great time to be having transsexual dreams with your childhood friend/currently nemesis. I mean, who needs sleeping, anyway.

Raylan blames the Batman dream. In fact, he was blaming anything on the Batman dream lately, from the bad weather to the way he just can’t help but wonder when he’ll eat Ava’s chicken again. He blames Batman so much these days that he’s got half a mind to go kick Christian Bale’s ass all the way back to Britain.

Asshole.

But anyway, maybe his subconscious got stuck in Boyd dressed in black. Or maybe this was his subconscious attempt at bringing both Batman and Catwoman to the same dream under low budget. Maybe he shouldn’t be eating bananas before bed. Maybe he should go downstairs and bring Lindsay up.

He gets up from the floor, muttering curses against Christian fuckin’ Bale.

As he considers what he’ll say to Lindsay, he realizes he doesn’t want to fuck her. Yeah, it would be good for his macho moral, he thinks as he lies back on his bed, but then again… if a homoerotic dream about your best friend as a woman falls in a forest and no one is around to hear it, does it make a gay?

Well, it might, if Boyd picks up the call Raylan is starting to dial.

He stops with his finger hovering on the call key of his cellphone. He has to stop making decisions while half awake, dammit. It only makes him vulnerable and open to Boyd Crowder, and he’s not in the position to do such a thing. If he was any other man – if he was a criminal, a sales man, a damn actor (fucking Christian Bale) – he could allow himself the luxury of doing the wrong thing and trusting Boyd. But his a marshal, and that makes things impossible.

But then again, what’s the worst Boyd could do with a dream?

(he could fuck with your mind and left you a mess, full of doubts and desires, he could blow you up and leave you in ashes, because that’s what he does.)

Raylan dials anyway, without a good reason (it’s just a phone call). He will doubt again his own sanity as the phone rings (what’s bed time for criminals, anyway?), but then Boyd is answering, and yes, by the sound of his voice, he was asleep.

“Hello.” Raylan doesn’t answer for a second, and then ends the call. What the hell.

He puts the phone down on the bed and lies with his head on the pillow. He will fall asleep, and maybe now he’ll dream with Gutterson in a tong dancing Gangnam Style, or something as weird as that, and in the morning that’s all that will be in his mind.

His phone rings.

“Raylan, my friend, as much as I consider you and have a great deal of affection for your person, it’s just not polite to wake a man in the middle of the night and then hung up on him. I’m pretty sure the late Frances Givens, God rest her soul, educated you in being less of an asshole.”

There are a couple of nice answers to this. Raylan could say it was a mistake, he could say he was worried or checking on them, he could pretend to be drunk, and he could even just tell Boyd to fuck off. Or, he could…

“I just dreamed you had boobs.”

Silence. Long, long, silence. And then:

“Just boobs?”

…What?

“What?”

“Well, Raylan, I’m asking you if I only had boobs. Like, was I regular Boyd Crowder, only with boobs, or was I a woman, boy?”

Yes, he was totally right to call Boyd. He was the only human being in the planet equipped to deal with such situation.

“Yes, I mean, yeah, you were a woman. I mean, you had a cock, but… woman, yeah.”

“How do you know I had a cock?” Boyd asked, and as soon as the words were out of his mouth – and Raylan was already half-way to ending the call – he started laughing. “No, no, Raylan, don’t hang up, don’t hang up, I’m sorry.”

“Bullshit, you’re not.”

“Well, I’m not, but I’ll refrain from asking about my cock. In fact I won’t ask about any cocks. What happened in the dream?”

“You were wearing a leather cat-suit.”

“Oh, so I was Catwoman this time around?”

It was a weird day when Raylan actually had to consider this question in a serious manner.

“…Don’t know, don’t think so. Your boobs were huge?”

“You askin’ or you tellin’, son?” Raylan could tell Boyd was walking around the house, and he thought he could hear water running and plates crashing.

“Are you doing the dishes?”

“Might as well make myself useful. But c’mon, you were talking about my boobs. Was I hot?”

“What kind of question is that?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, is it a taboo question as well? Like the dick thing? Okay, what do you want me to ask, then? What were we doing in the dream?”

“How do you even know I was in the dream?”

“It’s your dream, and you’re a narcissistic man, my friend. Dammit, I think Ava ate pie without me, I never felt as betrayed in my life, Raylan, can you feel my pain? So, c’mon, what were we doing?”

Time to end this call, time to end this call. Red alert, red alert!

“We kissed.”

In the silence, Raylan could hear Boyd closing the kitchen tap and taking a deep breath. He could almost see him, turning around and leaning against the sink, a dishcloth over his shoulder, the phone between his other shoulder and his ear. Maybe he was wearing those tight jeans, yes?

“What are you telling me, Raylan?” he asked, in a much more serious tone that he used so far.

“I… don’t know, Boyd. I had a dream, you had boobs, we kissed, I woke up. Thought about calling you and see what you think about it.”

“I’m… not quite sure what I do think about it, Raylan.”

Raylan sighed. He honestly didn’t know what the hell was he expecting here.

“What kind of porn have you been watching, anyway?” Boyd asked, a smile in his voice.

“Boyd!”

“Look, you called me in the middle of the night to talk about an erotic dream you had about me being a busty Catwoman. I think I’m entitled a few invasive questions.” Raylan wasn’t able to answer that, and Boyd sighed as well, loud and long. “Look, Raylan, it’s just a dream. You ever… have something you want to talk to me, you can talk. You know I’ll listen. I won’t… I wouldn’t judge you, you know that. And I sure as hell know we have some unsolved issues between us…”

“Boyd…”

“Don’t worry, today is not the day to bring up the past. Let’s just… let’s just let it rest for a while. You were probably still messed up about the Batman dream.”

“Yeah. That’s what I thought.” Really, why was Boyd being so reasonable? It’s kind of hard to think about him as a maniac when he acts like that. “Look, Boyd, I’m sorry to call you this late. Really, I am.”

“Oh, c’mon now. You didn’t even end up in our door, this time. I’ll call it progress.”

Yeah, well. Raylan wasn’t so sure about that just yet.

**Author's Note:**

> Do you think it was a terrible option to make the Batman fic into a series, should I stop or should I keep going? You wanna reach me, I'm at ohthati.tumblr.com ! Thanks for reading!


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